


A Wise Man in a Storm.

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam plays with magic and ends up falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wise Man in a Storm.

Killing the witch doesn't kill the spell.

Sam ends up on his back in the grass laughing out every breath, feeling like his skin is three sizes too small, grass sharp and soft and _alive_ under his fingers.

It's still raining, pouring, pouring down onto his upturned face with all the fury of the gods. He feels like it's opening him up and pouring through him, warm and slick and endless.

He doesn't even want to turn away to breathe.

Awesome.

 _Awesome._

"Are you high, Sam Winchester?"

It's a scolding voice, too amused to be genuine and Sam tips his head back, staring up at where Gabriel is blocking out the rain, looking taller than Sam's ever seen him. A mile away, up into the heavens. He laughs, laughs again and lifts a hand, smacks the angel on the knee in greeting.

"Gabriel," he likes the sound of it in his mouth, he says it again just because he can, just because he _can_ , and he can hear the angel _laughing_ at him.

He flails his way upright, not sure which way is really up and which down, boots sliding on the grass, and he finds a dry hand, smaller than his own but much, much stronger-

Sam's amazed how strong that hand is.

It pulls him to a stop, grounds him, and lets him get his feet under him.

The angel is smiling at him, and Sam can't even remember the last time someone looked at him like that.

He catches the angel with rain wet hands, fists them in fabric and drags himself up, just far enough, until he has the loose, amused curve of Gabriel's mouth under his own. He makes a noise under the kiss, a hard, honest noise of surprise, which Sam crushes silent.

Gabriel tastes like lightning, chilled and furious and unbearably sweet; Sam wonders if this is what Dean tastes all the time. If this is _angel._ He opens him up and licks his way inside, fingers curling and tightening in his shirt when there's no resistance, just breath and teeth and acceptance.

And the rain pouring against their faces.

"Sam," Gabriel says warily, against his mouth, _shivered_ into his mouth almost. It's a protest, but there's something tense underneath it. Something that makes Gabriel tighten and relax under his fingers when he slides down, falling to his knees again.

Sam finds bare skin with his wet hands, the soft, strange feel of it drags him in. He shoves shirt up, aside, and opens his mouth, low on Gabriel's stomach. The angel makes a noise like he's punched him.

He paints wet fingerprints on the waist of Gabriel's jeans, fingers sliding in where he's strangely cool, but soft and real, and Sam wants that, wants to taste it, wants to drag his teeth there and find out if angels break like men. His fingers slide inwards, unsnapping the button-

Gabriel stiffens completely, hands on Sam's wrists, pulling his hands away with impossible, unstoppable force.

"Stop," he says simply, voice dark and insistent over the roar of the rain. "I won't do that; I won't let you do that, Sam."

The magic drains out of him like someone's pulled it free, one great rush of sensation that leaves him empty and tense and much colder, brain sharp and clear, soaking and on his knees in the grass, with Gabriel's fingers pain-tight on his wrists.

Everything the same as before he got here, except one thing. He's so hard inside his jeans that it's a long, steady ache and, _Jesus_ , yeah, that's really messed up.

He takes a quick, stunned breath.

Gabriel drops him abruptly and steps back.

He leaves Sam on the ground with the taste of the angel's skin still in his mouth. Which isn't half as troubling, and not even close to as horrifying as it should be. Sam realises, half-unwillingly, that maybe he wants that. Maybe he wants something bright and sharp and impossible too. Even more than he wants to just forget the apocalypse for a while.

He wants it because of the way Gabriel's _looking_ at him right now. Like Sam has cracked him open and seen, just for once, a glimpse of something vast and terrifying, and brutally real. What Gabriel is and what he's done are nothing compared to what he is now, what he always was.

Sam thinks whatever happens next is up to him.

He finds the loose edge of Gabriel's hand before he even realises he's reached for it, fingers cool and rain-wet in his own and Gabriel looks down, as if in surprise.

"Come here," Sam demands, a little stunned at his daring, but Gabriel comes anyway, two uncertain steps, as if Sam is possessed, or still layered under magic.

But then he's closer, slipping against Sam's jacket and on his knees in the grass, and-

Sam's not prepared for it, no matter what he thought, or what he assumed. He's not ready for Gabriel to kiss him like he _wants_ him. Tangle of fingers in his hair and curses against his mouth and Sam takes it all.

He finds the bare space at the back of Gabriel's spine, that feels strangely vulnerable under his wet hands and the angel slides a leg over his thigh at the coaxing, presses in close, turns Sam's height advantage into nothing, and _Christ._

He should probably be thinking this through, thinking about what will happen when the rain stops, but the quick-hard snap of his belt and zipper under the roar of it makes his stomach tighten and his breath catch in his throat.

Gabriel's hand pushes into the front of his jeans, cold wet fingers against the heat of him, and it shoves a solid moan out of his throat. Too tight and too awkward until Gabriel grunts irritation and pulls wet denim half off his hips.

There's no innocence in the way Gabriel touches him, hard where he needs it, slippery-wet where he doesn't expect it, and Sam's thighs tense and shift inside the confinement of his jeans, ceaseless and desperate. He grunts, sways back long enough to peel the soaking material of his shirt over his head, then throws it down into the grass.

Then he finds the back of Gabriel's neck, skin impossibly soft, and it barely dents under his fingers, under his insistence and Sam realises, dizzyingly, exactly what he's touching here, exactly what he's coaxed into touching him back.

But Gabriel is already kissing him, pushing until Sam's on his back in the grass, shoving into his wet hand. Turning his head sideways to breathe in the rain.

"What do you want, Sam?" Gabriel asks, tight and hard, all careful control wound so tightly, and Sam has to know, has to know for sure if he's the only one.

He pushes off Gabriel's jacket, then catches the edge of his shirt and hauls it over his head, leaves the curve of his back bare to catch the rain.

Gabriel is a thin line of tension, but his skin jumps and twitches under Sam's hands in a way that's familiar and reassuring.

Sam pushes a hand between them to tug open the zipper of Gabriel's jeans and works his hand inside. He finds him fiercely hard, hot under his fingers, and Gabriel exhales, rough, human and real when Sam touches him.

"You're going to kill me- or yourself," Gabriel protests shakily, but doesn't say no, doesn't tell him to stop, doesn't point out how fucking stupid this is when Sam's never- _never_.

But he moves so Sam can shove his own jeans and boxer shorts down his legs and kick them free along with his boots. Legs instantly colder, spattered with rain.

He pulls until they're crushed together in the grass again, works his legs open around Gabriel's smaller hips. He makes it obvious what he wants, and Gabriel bites, just a little too hard at the sensitive part of his throat when he realises, murmuring words that make no sense into his skin while his hands slip into every bend and curve of his body. Like they never want to leave. Like they're finding out what every inch of him feels like.

"You're not that flexible," Gabriel tells him, shaky admonishment against his mouth, and then he pushes and Sam's slip-sliding over on his knees in the wet grass thinking-knowing he's going to be a fucking mess when this is all over.

He feels reckless and shivery and stupid, and he thinks maybe he likes that a little too much. That he's let that lure him into too many things he shouldn't have done. Can't feel guilty about now, cant-

Gabriel pushes him down, nudges his knee out and Sam grunts surprise at how open that leaves him, how fucking _vulnerable_. Because they never let themselves give that much, never.

Sam's thoughts shake apart at the press of fingers inside him, slippery and strange but careful, knowing when to push, when to let him take it. He breathes through the strange uncomfortable intimacy of it, doesn't think about anything but that.

Until Gabriel leans over him and pushes, fingers curled up and-

Stab of sensation, pressure and pleasure that has Sam pressing his forehead into the grass and pushing back on a groan.

"Fuck- yes."

He's giving garbled permission catching at the wet line of Gabriel's denim-clad thigh and digging his fingers in as hard as he can

The fingers slide free and he can hear the shove of denim behind him, and a hand pushes his thigh up higher, holds it there.

Solid hand in the middle of his back and one steady push, impossibly slow and Sam groans and opens and it's an ache he has no idea what to do with, all his can do is take it, fingers tight in the wet grass.

The rain pours down and Sam breathes through it, breathes into it, and shudders under every quick push that's always just a fraction away from too hard. He's choking need on every breath, cock crushed between the warmth of his belly and the faraway chill of the grass, so close, skin sharp and tingling and he's going to have bruises from every single place Gabriel laid his fingers.

Gabriel's name catches in his throat, soft and desperate like he's begging. Though whether it's for more or for mercy he doesn’t have a fucking clue, not when every breath leaves him as a groan, knees skidding in the mud.

Gabriel's skin is almost too warm now, and tingles like its electrified every time it touches him. He's no longer silent either, falling to pieces in soft noises and the sharp dig of fingers, broken words Sam doesn't know, old and shapeless but hard enough to feel.

Until the angel groans, catches the bend of Sam's waist, and the spike of pleasure when he pushes in and breaks into pieces is so fierce Sam can't breathe.

It's far too much, too good, all shards of bright sensation layering on top of one another until Sam loses all his words, turns them into one long groan of sound, and he comes so fucking hard.

It's freefall so good it hurts, and he can't catch a breath through it, and he thinks maybe he's going to pass out-

-the rain doesn't let him stay insensate for long.

When he opens his eyes again he feels drunk, dizzy, and blasphemous.


End file.
